Good Plans
by blogyourfeelings
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and speeches have never gone quite right. A well made plan by Sherlock and Molly goes askew.


They make the plan while curled up together on the sofa in Baker Street. Maybe Molly can blame all the endorphins in her body, or the warmth of Sherlock's lips rumbling against her temple, but she_** swears**_ it seems like a good idea at the time.

"We can tell everyone at the Christmas party," Sherlock says softly. One of his hands is occupied with the tips of her hair, curling it around his index finger. "We can invite my parents down for it. Make the announcement to everyone at the same time."

Molly hums in agreement. "Okay, but I get to tell them."

"Can't we announce one each?" Sherlock questions cheekily, letting go of her hair to concentrate on her face.

Molly laughs and jabs at his arm as if to reprimand him. "No, Sherlock. Just because we're having twins doesn't mean we get to make two announcements."

"Fine, fine," Sherlock sighs dramatically. He places a sweet kiss on the back of her hand and grins. "Whatever you want."

She would have told their friends and family about the pregnancy in simple, understated way. If it only its wasn't for Mycroft. It wasn't on purpose- no Holmes men seem to have a way of wreaking havoc without even meaning to- but one simple visit to Baker Street by Sherlock's brother sees that easy, non-attention grabbing pregnancy announcement go up in smoke.

She's milling around the kitchen when he drops by. Molly knows its him before he greets her. Its the tapping noise of the umbrella as he makes his way up the stairs- it normally makes Molly grin, him using his treasured umbrella like an old man would use a cane. Not today, because she doesn't think she will be able to evade the inherent Holmes ability to deduct the secrets of others.

Molly forces out at pleasant greeting to Sherlock's brother, trying to disguise the way her skin glows in the morning light of the flat. She sits down at the kitchen table, pretending to pick at a fruit salad, hoping that if she's seated, he won't spot she put on at least six pounds since his last visit.

If he does notice he, as the more polite of the Holmes brothers, doesn't mention it. He just joins her at the table, reaching over to grab a grape from her plate.

Her surprised gaze lifts up to him as he swallows and then he smirks, eyes crinkling with the effort. "I'm trying out another diet. I don't think it's agreeing with me."

Molly laughs chimes out, relaxing into her chair. Mycroft has always piqued her interest, with his intimidating stare and sharp suits. Yet he has this mirthful humour that Molly can appreciate, a smile that could terrify and put you to ease in the blink of an eye.

They share a lot, Sherlock and his brother, and not just high cheekbones and stormy eyes. It's why the squabble so much, to hide their similarities, or in some futile way to mask the familial sentiment they share.

Mycroft's somber eyes observe over her as she thinks. Her mouth opens to distract him, to get him out the flat on the pretence of a headache. Something in her mind, and if she was going to be fanciful her heart, told her not to. The words spill out of her, a jumbled blurted out mess.

"I'm pregnant."

Mycroft 'The Iceman' Holmes is stunned speechless for just a second, then allows a quirk of his lips in response. He leans forward towards the woman his brother loves so dearly, an eyebrow raised in question. "I trust all is well?"

Molly beams widely, dimples out in force. "Yes." She replies, hands drifting over her non-existent bump. "Everything is great."

Mycroft nods, appeased by the warmth of Molly's expression. He grins back, asking, "What did Mother say?"

Teeth gnaw at the inside of her cheek, suddenly feeling guilty for blabbing. "We haven't actually told her yet. You're the first," She winces, thinking of how annoyed Sherlock will be for letting the secret slip. "We were planning to tell everyone at the Christmas party."

"Oh," Mycroft says softly, and Molly hears a lot of emotion packed into one tiny word. Then, his smirk is in place and he tips his head back to snigger._** "Oh."**_

"What?"

Mycroft can't seem to control his amusement. "Oh nothing," He says, patting Molly's hand. All the while, he's smiling, and somehow he manages to make it a combination of soothing and frightening. It stays as he lets out a happy sigh, like all his Christmases have come at once. "I can't wait to see Mother's face when you tell her."

Two weeks go by until the annual Baker Street Christmas gathering, in which Sherlock has the spent the majority of either pretending to sulk or plotting, or both at the same time.

He's sitting on the long couch, already dressed for the party in a well fitting maroon shirt and black trousers, muttering to himself. Molly plops herself down next to him and without thinking he reaches an arm to drape over her shoulders. She snuggles into Sherlock chest, letting his warmth calm her nerves.

"You know telling everyone isn't such a big deal," She says gently, transfixed on the button she's twiddling between her fingers.

"I'm not making it a big deal," Sherlock denies, but his hands are stroking at the ends of her hair and he tends to only do that when he's very relaxed or agitated. "I have simply crafted a well thought out speech."

Speeches, as displayed by John's wedding, are hardly Sherlock's forte. This is the price she has to pay for letting the cat out of the bag to Mycroft. Pushing out his embrace to stand and hover over him, her hands clasp his cheeks, giving him a wry, but fond smile.

Sherlock's eyes narrow. "What?"

She leans down to peck his pouty lips, giggling as she turns back to the kitchen to organise the drinks for the punch Mary wants to make. Her nose scrunches in delight. "You're just adorable."

Sherlock's pout shifts to a frown, ready to refute such a claim when Mrs Hudson pops her head through the door, armed with a bottle of champagne.

Mrs Hudson waves the bottle in the air. "Thought it be nice for us all to have a drink."

Sherlock replies, eyes tightly shut, already retreating back to his mind palace, with an excuse. "Molly hates champagne."

Mrs Hudson peers up at Molly for conformation and receives a guilty nod. The guilt recedes, and nervousness takes root, when Molly realizes soon their landlady, and everyone else, will know the real reason.

Patience is not a quality Sherlock has ever been able to pride himself in having.

"Can I tell them yet?" Sherlock whines, with the petulance of five year old. Molly busies herself with getting Mrs Hudson a brandy, ignoring for a moment Sherlock's anxious movements around their kitchen table. Molly is assured no-one else can hear their conversation because the living room is packed with noise, from Mr Holmes rumbling voice, to Baby Watson's peals of laughter and Greg's enthusiastic, ridiculous noises made in an attempt to amuse the young girl.

"Wait until your brother is here," Molly instructs, sounding like the stern parents she hopes she won't have to be. She managed to get him to wait for the arrival his parents, John, Mary, their little girl and all their other close friends.

"I'm here", Mycroft announced, startling them both by creeping into the kitchen.

Molly frowned at him as passes him to go back to the living room, Mrs Hudson's brandy in hand, poking him in the chest with her free hand. "You're late."

Her grumbling tone evokes grins out of both Holmes brother which Molly misses as sets down Mrs Hudson's drink. The elderly landlady is having an in-depth conversation with Mary and Mrs Holmes on the couch.

She heads back to the kitchen, where she's met by two contrasting sights- Mycroft, calm and collected, unmoved by the happy festivities and Sherlock, who's wringing hands and shifting eyes suggest a combination of agitation and excitement.

Mycroft interrupts the silence in the room with a reply to Molly. "I apologise for my lateness. I do have a rather important job."

"I do not care if you're stopping nuclear war, Mycroft Holmes," Molly spits, her eyes narrows. "I said seven thirty."

Mycroft's face lights up, amused at being on the receiving end of the young pathologist's wrath. "I almost forgot, it's the big announcement tonight." Mycroft's tone is teasing as he eyes his younger brother. "Mother will be pleased, Sherlock, you're finally giving her a decent Christmas present.

Molly expects Sherlock to offer some sort of biting remark in response, but instead, he end the conversation, abruptly leaving the room.

Molly and Mycroft have no choice other than to follow him, stopping short in front of the doorway between the kitchen and living room. They watch with bated breath as Sherlock picks up the champagne glass Mrs Hudson provided him with earlier.

He clears his throat in attempt to get his audience's attention. "Hello everyone." Sherlock announces. He hesitates, just for a second, and this causes a worried, but amused Molly and Mycroft to exchanges glances. "We invited you here-"

"Because it's Christmas?" John interrupted with a lazy smile, the mixture of beer and spirits loosening his tongue.

"More like Molls forced him to." Greg chipped in.

"No-"

Mary sat up from her relaxed position for the couch, with a nearly empty wine glass in hand, to speak over Sherlock's intended reply. "If this is the "You all have to leave now' speech, you can sod off because your mother was telling us about the time-"

"No it's not that, I was-" Sherlock began, floundering so much that Molly was starting to feel remorse over the grins her and Mycroft were failing to conceal. Sherlock's fumbling transformed to frustration as his father got up out of Sherlock's chair to leave the room. Sherlock asked, irritation lacing his tone. "Dad, where are you going?"

Mr Holmes stopped short just beside Molly and his eldest son, turning back with a confused expression at the acid in Sherlock's tone. "Toilet. Won't be long."

Sherlock's mother piped up, joining the trend of disrupting Sherlock's well practiced speech. "You know your father Sherlock, bladder like a pea that one. Do you ever remember-"

"MOLLY IS PREGNANT!" Sherlock cries out, hands flailing in exasperation, his crafted plan in tatters. He lets out this sigh of relief after the outburst and Molly clamps her hand over her mouth to stop a shocked laugh from escaping. He adds, and given the stress of the experience, his voice is exceedingly gentle and reverent. "With twins."

Mycroft's eyes follow a line of astonished expressions, landing finally on his gaping mother. "I take it back," He whispers under his breath to Molly, glee written all over his expression. "This is the best Christmas present Sherlock's ever given me."

The lack of reaction from their family and friends other than shell-shock silence has Sherlock's eyes seeking Molly's guidance. Molly moves forward to stand beside him, encircling his waist, smiling reassuringly.

"They're supposed to be congratulating us," Sherlock mutters in her ear, sounding affronted by their family's lack of celebration. Molly looks up at him, squeezing his waist affectionately, her cheeks straining at the width of her grin.

As everyone in the room recovers from shock, the smiles start, the popping of more champagne and laughter fills Baker Street to the brim with delight. Molly eyes stay with Sherlock throughout, watching him soak up the atmosphere, lean in to every hug or kiss, beam with pride at every well wish.

This night has shown her what she's always know but never recognized- that every idea they create, every plan they forge, however awry and off course they may go- if they're together, it will always be good.


End file.
